Always
by end1essly
Summary: Is it insanity? Abandonment? Eternal love?.....Oneshot. Epilogue compliant


Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns, I write fanfic. Yay.

Always

It was a glorious day, the type of weather that keeps one lost and wandering amongst woody paths, the sunlight sneaking between the gaps in the trees, the rustling of leaves making it seem like lost acquaintances will travel from that land of unknown and back into quiet uncomplicated life.

Hermione found herself dawdling as she scrubbed lunchtime dishes, looking out the large picture window that framed the immense forest that made up their backyard, her children playing within seeing distance, the chirping of birds spilling through the open doorway. Her face was expressionless even as she tackled a particularly tough spot, eyes transfixed on the cascading sunrays, the perfect shade of unadulterated yellow. The sunlight bounced off Rose's shiny brown hair as she turned a cartwheel, Hugo seated and holding a magnifying glass up to various backyard artifacts.

The pan clanged as it submerged in the soapy water, Hermione's eyes fluttering closed as the soft breeze rearranged her curls, one wayward strand caressing her neck in the most delicious manner. She was reaching thirty, and although she cherished her children like the most precious of jewels, found herself inexplicably dissatisfied with her life.

It had begun one day when little Hugo knocked over a drinking glass, the once solid object exploding into millions of miniscule shards, as one form became another. Hugo had cried out in apology, but Hermione found herself rooted, staring at the pile of glass, until the poor boy had run to hide under his bedcovers. _Such shiny things._

When was the last time Hermione had _felt_? Certainly not at her wedding to Ron, where her lips had as much movement as stone, certainly not at the births of her two children, where the doctors tried desperately to place her baby in her arms, certainly not when Hermione's eyes had been the only dry ones at her beloved father's funeral.

Who could explain the scene that Ron arrived home from work to see on that fateful April 22nd, to find his wife standing in a pile of glass, her hands and feet drenched in the ruby red blood, her face quiet and devoid of emotion, despite Rose's hysterical screaming?

Hermione had quit her job at the Ministry nearly a year ago, and the doctors at St. Mungo's had deemed her condition so hopeless that they had sent her home. She spent the entirety of days in her cocoon of blankets, eyelashes fluttered closed, two turkey sandwiches carefully made and left on the kitchen counter, wandering throughout the house by night in a destinationless daze.

Rose had come home from school early one day, jumping into the arms of Grandma Molly, streaks etched into her lovely doll face, teeth chattering and limbs flailing.

_They said Mama's crazy! That she doesn't have a brain, and she's going to have to be sent away forever!_

The sun rose, the sun set, The sun rose, the sun set.

_Such pretty images….How could I forget? _

All the specialists, both magical and muggle, agreed that there was no cure to a broken heart.

_The two of them had been in their secret place by the lake, the tall grass sweetly scented by chamomile and honeysuckle, the colors emerald and ruby, blond and brown, so deeply entwined they were nearly one. _

Ron couldn't bear to face her anymore, his cheeks burned a deep scarlet. It was if they were strangers, sharing a home, a bed, a life.

_His fingers lightly brushing her arm, her hand on his trim waist, his nose enveloped in her thick hair, her lips pressed against his sharp collarbone._

She had begin to write letters, miles of her tidy handwriting, delivered by owl to everyone she had ever known, their insides full of nonsensical phrases, twisting and turning on parchment.

_O! The beautiful joy he had felt, when her crisply pressed blouse fell off her shoulders, her innocent expression as they begun the opening steps in the delicate dance of making love, bending to kiss her again and again and again and again and again, her succulent lips laced with sweet wine…_

One afternoon Hugo stumbled upon his mother's wand, broken cleanly in half, in his sandbox.

_She twisted her fingers in the fields of his hair as he entered her that very first time, brown eyes never leaving silver, her back arching in the dusky sunset, the two of them rolling over the remains of their dinner. She cried out._

The screen door slammed as Hermione stepped into the sunlight, her feet blindly stumbling down the grassy hill, eyes focused on that fathomless wood, the joyful giggles of her children soon replaced with cries of confused concern.

_Love are you okay? The wine glass lay shattered underneath them but all he was worried about was the blood destroy and her pain but she just pulled him down desireskintoskinsilkhearttoheartforgetsoultosoulthewindtanglingherhairgreenhermioneasstormbrewedaboveandasthedropsbegantofallsuchcompleteeternitychamomil  
ewoodutterlyminesaltneedgutturalmoanasoftgentlescreamkissandthedrenchingrustlingohbabydrenchingfuckdrenchingsuchagentlesighdracosixmorelove  
speed  
daysireleaseutterlyyoursaflashofdizzydaregreenlightandsuchweightemptinessvoidsuchweight _

She stepped into the forest and never looked back. They found a sock and a shoe a week later.


End file.
